


Connected

by Littlemouse_04



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Backstory, Death, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Minor Peterick, Other, Serial killer!Patrick - Freeform, Song references, kind of brainwashing, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14205291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlemouse_04/pseuds/Littlemouse_04
Summary: People have started going missing. This isn't the unusual part. What's strange is how they all seem to then be found in similar conditions.The band has started noticing how Patrick is kind of obsessed with the news recently, and always has a small, slightly twisted, smile on his face.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. I'm starting a new fic. I have a small part planned but I have been obsessing over this plot for about 2 years. I am so excited.  
> Wait. All my fics are, like, really dark. This is no exception I guess- if not even more fucked up. Definitely more fucked up.

It started when Patrick was 6.

It was the first day of the new school year and he had entered the building, wide-eyed and innocent with a ninja turtles lunchbox and disproportionately large backpack, his mother waving to him before turning away and heading home, leaving her son there. Alone.

Patrick had always kept to himself- never running around and shouting like the other children, preferring to sit quietly and stack blocks on top of each other then knocking them over and starting again. He was different.

This, perhaps, is what intrigued Christopher Harker, or, Mr Harker as he was known by the children. Yes, Patrick stood out to this teacher.  
He was polite, neat, _pure_. Christopher loved him immediately.

It takes a very twisted mind to dream up what Mr Harker had planned for Patrick. You see, he was bored. He wanted someone to appreciate him, join him in what he loved, continue his legacy. He wanted to _inspire_ someone to _be like him._

It took three months for Christopher to gain Patrick's trust. Three months of sitting next to the child at break times when the other children ran around. Three months of smiling, giving Patrick stickers. Three months of conversing with Patrick- getting to know him.  
He became Patrick's best friend, in a sense.

This continued over the course of the year. By the time summer holidays came round, little Patrick would beg his mother to let Mr Harker babysit him whilst his mother went out to work. Of course, she agreed.

This allowed Christopher to start his grand plan. Step one: Befriend and gain Patrick's trust, was complete.

Step two: gain access to the child, unsupervised for long periods of time, was complete.  
======================================================

On the third day of the holidays, Christopher was summoned to the Stumph household to watch over Patrick for the first time. The boy was seven now.

"So, Patrick, how are you?"  
The child beamed at his teacher as if he were the sun. "I'm great!"

"Good, good. Now, I have something to ask you, my dear boy. What- and this can be anything in the world- do you love to do the most?"

Patrick seemed to consider this for a moment.  
"Well... I like music. I guess that would be cool. But I also really want to make people happy. I don't like it when people are sad."

"So if I told you that you could make people's sadness go away forever, would you do it? What if I told you that, if you let me, I will teach you how to fix all of the sad people?"

Patrick's eyes glistened... "Yes."

"Good boy. Now listen to everything I say."  
================================

Two weeks later and Christopher had Patrick right where he wanted him. In just ten lessons he had taught Patrick that his goal came before everyone and everything else- never let anyone stop him from completing his mission. Patrick also believed Christopher to be the only person who could help him "cure sadness"- the only person who understood Patrick- the only one who wouldn't ever hurt Patrick. Christopher was the only one he could trust.

By the final lesson of the summer holidays, Christopher knew Patrick was ready.

"Patrick, dear, I have something for you."  
His comment was met with a curious but trusting, loving stare.

From behind his back, he pulled a small leather pouch. In it, contained a knife.  
Patrick reached out for it with grabby hands, only for them to be grasped in Christopher's. The pouch was pressed into the boy's palms.

"I entrust this to you. Use it in your mission. Never let anyone know you have it or they will try and stop you and you know I won't let you fail. No protege of mine will fail me. You won't disappoint me, will you, Patrick?"

A firm "Never" escaped the boy before he was pulled into an embrace.

"I knew I could count on you, my dear. My precious, precious boy."

This seemed to make Patrick glow. _He trusts me. I am his. I will make him happy._  
===============================================================

Patrick was ten when Christopher broke him. He had dreamed of getting rid of all sadness in the world and making everyone happy forever. Christopher laughed at that- telling Patrick he had the cure. Patrick only realised what he meant when he was ten. At first, he was appalled, terrified. But then... Christopher had never lied to him, never did anything to hurt Patrick, never said he wanted anything other than to _help_ Patrick. So the idea seemed less scary. More appealing. Really, it only made sense. If the person was _dead_ , then they couldn't be sad, right? Really, Patrick would be helping them, right?  
That's what Christopher told him. And Christopher never lied.

===================================================================

Christopher said his friend was sad. Would Patrick like to help him?  
-  
..."Yes."

 

It became yet another way they bonded. Instead of just conversation, now they had a common goal. To help a sad friend.  
It was a weekend when Patrick was "going to a friend's house". In a sense, he was- only, not to play video games. Instead of bringing sweets and a games console like a normal child, all Patrick took was a small leather pouch.

 

When he got to the house, he was greeted with the adoring smile of none other than his dear Christopher.  
"Come in, darling. Let us start our lesson."  
======================================================================

The man was huddled in a corner, crying, shaking with gasping sobs that shook his body.  
_He is sad. You must help him, Patrick. End his suffering. cure him, cure him, cure him, curehimcurehimcure..._

A slender arm wrapped around Patrick's middle and he was turned to gaze up at Christopher.  
"You know what to do. Remember all I have taught you. If you do exactly as I say, you cannot fail me."

The reassuring brush of lips on Patrick's forehead was like a promise from Christopher.... " _You cannot fail..._ "

No more than six minutes later, the previously sobbing man was still, pale, emotionless, and Patrick was wrapped in strong arms, face being peppered with proud kisses. He had been a good boy.  
============================================

By the age of 14, Patrick had cured 37 people. Christopher couldn't be more proud of his creation- the picture of innocence- an angelic face concealing a bloodthirsty creature that craved taking the lives of weak people in the name of 'helping them'.

Christopher wanted to put his mark on his Patrick. For his birthday, he made Patrick get a tattoo- a flaming angel. He had happily obliged- he would do _anything_ for his master.

Patrick became lost in his ritual. He didn't even care if a person was sad anymore. All lives contributed to the cause. He would take them all. After all, that's what he had been taught.

======================================================

At 16, Patrick had claimed 58 lives. Over the two years, both he and Christopher had become a little deranged, working together, as always, they started advertising their cause to other people. Now 5 people had joined their group and strived to please Christopher, to continue his dream. But none of them came close to Patrick.

He had devoted his mind and soul to his leader since he was six years old. All he wanted was to serve him. To please him. But another part of him, deep inside, knew that he was destined for greater things than this small group. He _knew_ he was able to reach higher limits. He would build an empire for Christopher....the man he served... the man he lived for... the man he killed for... the man he _loved_.

Patrick would do anything for his creator. He would give him everything he had. Mind. Body. Soul. He wanted Christopher to take him in every way he could. So he gave him his virginity.

==================================================================

It was a bright summers day when Joe entered Borders. He met a really awesome dude who he just knew would be _perfect_ for the new band. He was also really funny. Even after he left, Joe was still snickering about the kid's joke about the apparent hickey on his neck.  
"Yeah, totally fucked my really hot babysitter. Shh, don't tell my mom I'm being watched by the leader of a sex cult!"

 _Mental_ , Joe thought, _Pete was going to_ love _him,_


	2. Perfect Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of starting this chapter, it is before midnight for once!  
> Also, thought I would be able to speed through about 6 chapters that were already published on my Wattpad but they are so bad I am basically having to re-right everything apart from like, two sentences so that's fun.

You know, the best way to finish a show is getting to flop down on a sofa to bask in the feeling of having thousands of people crow your words back to you. Pete was just so drained from flipping about on stage, but his heart was still racing as the adrenaline slowly started to escape his body- this was definitely his favourite feeling on earth.

It was even better that he got to share it with his best friends, two of which he could hear laughing and messing around a few metres away. Children, Pete swears.

Speaking of best friends, Pete looked up when he heard the door to the tour bus open and almost slam closed as if someone had thrown their whole body weight onto it. Patrick.  
When he looked up and caught sight of Pete, he showed a wide, slightly manic grin before pulling his hand down his face, wiping off nonexistent sweat. His eyes kept darting around, slightly wider than usual; Pete pinned it to the post-show high.  
Patrick was usually the first one into the bus, heading straight for a cup of tea or his mac as he'd had some sudden epiphany and had to translate his brain-mess into breath-taking music.  
However, there was the odd show where he would come in about ten minutes after, always claiming to have been stopped by a fan or getting lost on the way to the loo.#  
Tonight was one of those nights. Patrick just said he had been talking to one other security dudes.

No reason not to trust him, right?  
======================

Three days after the aforementioned show, the band was hanging out in the main room of the tour bus with the news on in the background as they tried to finally finish a game of Monopoly.  
"Andy you _bastard_ you are about to take my last hundred. Don't you dare or I will replace all your soy products with the most animal-ly shit I can find!"

"Wow. Great threat, Joe- very compelling. Really makes me want to have mercy and let you keep your money. Oh well, would you look at that? You're bankrupt," in a deadpan tone.  
As Joe harumphed and threw himself bodily next to Pete, (who squawked, flailed about, and succeeded in accidentally punching Joe in the nose) before grumbling, rubbing his face, and turning his back on Andy in mock anger.

"Well, seems like it's just you and me Patrick! I think it's your roll since- Patrick?"  
There was no sign of recognition from the younger man as he just continued staring at the television where the screen flashed _*BREAKING NEWS*_ above a photo of a dark-haired woman, smiling in the grainy photo. Honestly, news stations never pick a good quality photo!  
Anyway, The reporter on-screen was talking about a murder in... wait. That was the town they had been playing a few days ago. She had apparently gone missing that night and her body was found in an alleyway with a burnt line all the way across her forehead,  
" _-scorched marks applied after her death which had been caused by the multiple wounds made across her stomach, wrists, and throat. The police suspect it is one of a group of killings where the victim has been found with one if these gruesome burns across their forehead- like an imitation of a halo. The Chief of Police, Mark Spielmann, has alluded to the suspicion of a cult performing this recent string of murders._ "

Andy had gone quiet after hearing what the story was really talking about. The sudden silence seemed to have also caught the attention of Pete and Joe as, at some point, they had both fallen quiet too.  
There was a mutter of, " _Fucking insane freaks._  
When Andy craned his neck to look at the pair, his spotted the un-hidden disgust and sad shock on both of his bandmates faces. It was hard to not let their brains conjure up thoughts like, _She might have been at the show. The murderer might have been there. Other people, we, could have been in danger._

 

The ginger drummer could feel a similar expression adorning his face but when he looked towards Patrick, there was no trace of the common repulsion or affrontedness, rather, he had leaned forward and was staring very attentively at the television. He had a strange sparkle in his eye and his mouth was twitching at the corners but he was battling it into an impassive line.

The rest of the band interpreted the shiny eyes and flickering lips as Patrick fighting off tears.  
Really, he was trying not to smile.  
================================================================

If any of the band had been awake that night, they might have heard Patrick's teenage-girl-like giggles down the phone line. Into a phone that none of them had seen before, but had been hidden in the lining of Patrick's duffel since the start of the tour.  
But, that was impossible as Patrick had slipped sedatives into their drinks before they bade each other goodnight.

"Hey! I miss you," the playful pout was evident in his voice, "Did you see the news? The police are getting quicker at finding our toys."  
" **Hi baby boy, of course I saw the news. I'm so very proud of you for doing this all for me. Did anyone see you after the show?** "

"Only the guys- but you know how clueless they are. I'm just innocent little Pattycakes to them. Will I see you soon?"  
" **Of course, child. Have you forgotten about the meeting in a few weeks? We scheduled it especially so my number one could be there back from his tour. I can't wait to look at all the work you have been doing.** "

"Of course I didn't! I could never forget you. I love you, Christopher."  
" **I know, my perfect little soldier.** "

And they hung up.

Calls like these reminded Patrick of why he did all that he did. When Christopher, his master, called him by his pet names, Patrick never failed to blush and swell with adoration and felt himself fall into a sort of trance of devotion and pride. He was Christopher's favourite...

He didn't only do it for Christopher anymore, either. He had grown to love the feeling of a heart stopping beneath his palm. Another's blood running over his hands. The final shaky breath before a body went still.  
With every life he took, Patrick felt more alive himself.

As for the "meetings", he went to meet up with Christopher and the rest of the recruits to watch their progress over the past months.  
Ever time they created another angel for their leader, it would be filmed and sent directly to Patrick who would watch every second, analyse it, and use it as inspiration for the next one. He was basically the mastermind behind every killing- planning out every detail to the last _breath_.

Maybe that's why Christopher loved him so much. Patrick was a product of his teachings but had developed so much himself that he had formed a following of his own, all of them still devoted to Christopher, but followed Patrick's every instruction without question. He had recruits in every state so there was always an influx of videos coming to the secret laptop he also carried around with him under immense security.  
It was likely that whenever Patrick was 'on garage band' or just 'resting in his bunk', he was on that laptop watching through the film and orchestrating the next ritual.

When tours were over, people rarely heard from him too. He never failed to visit the convent, or equivalent of, that Christopher had set up for the most highly regarded members. Patrick had a room away from the others, right next to Christophers where he usually went every night to connect with his master.  
Only Christopher ever got to see Patrick that way- he was his one and only. No one else had seen Patrick flushed with arousal or lust, being fucked into submission, a hand round his throat as he cried tears of joy because _he_ was the chosen one. He and he alone acted as Christopher's mistress.

He only ever left the convent to go to his apartment once or twice to call a friend, so as to not raise suspicion.

His home, his heart, his body was with Christopher.  
Whenever he was alone- away from his love- he looked at his one and only tattoo that Christopher himself had gifted him. Of course, Patrick had been branded with a ring on his inner bicep like every other recruit, but the burning angel was unique to him. A visual representation of his superiority to the lesser members. 

He was the property of Christopher, and he adored it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck. Finishing that chapter at 00:01.  
> Is it just impossible to not post before midnight? Seriously?
> 
> My insta is petezah_stumph ,, I don't really post but my DMs are open and I am always free to talk about whatever. 
> 
> LEAVE PROMPTS IN THE COMMENTS

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I know it was kinda crap. I am excited about future chapters (of which I actually planned) but this one just came off the top of my head.  
> Also, apparently I am now allergic to using varied sentence structures? Why all the short sentences, Kizzie? Huh? Stop it. It's annoying.


End file.
